World's Greatest Threat
by JulieArchery107
Summary: What is the greatest threat to the world as we know it? Nukes? No. Wars? Nope. Zombie outbreaks? You wish. It's nothing that dramatic, I assure you. No, the greatest threat to humanity is not a weapon nor a natural catastrophe...its just a very drunk Mycroft that can't stop talking. Its a good thing that John was called in to look after him right? Right!
1. Chapter 1

"World's Greatest Threat"

Prologue

"Boredom. It's always because of boredom."

Despite his job having him literally carrying the weight of the entire world on his shoulders on many an occasion, it doesn't mean Mycroft Holmes in completely immune to boredom.

There are days when nothing interesting happens in the office. There are no terrorist threats, Sherlock is, for once, being a good little London citizen and stays out of trouble, and his fellow politicians actually pull their weight without him holding their hands all the time.

Because of the sheer _rarity_ of such days, Mycroft still hasn't figured out a proper way to handle them.

Which brings us to the present situation.

With the British Government siting at his desk, heaving a great sight and mindlessly toying with a pen he found on the floor on his way to work, looking about as thankful for the downtime as he would be if God just banned cake from ever existing.

In other words, he was bored and unhappy.

Very very _very_ bored and very _very_ unhappy.

The government sure is glad they got the more restrained Holmes brother, because if Mycroft was _anything_ like Sherlock, he'd be starting wars and ending them at the same time, just to see the bewildered look on everyone's faces, as he announces 'I declare war' and then 'war over. I won.' right after that, with an upmost bored expression on his face and fiddling with a pen.

And those would only be the _good_ days.

Luckily for the world, the Holmes brothers couldn't be more different, so that little scenario isn't going to happen any time soon.

That revelation, however, _didn't_ help Mycroft get rid of his boredom.

"Anthea!" He called out, after another hour of 'lets-count-the-dots-on-the-sealing', quite desperate for something to occupy his mind.

The ever-faithful assistant appeared in his office not a full minute later, blackberry in hand and her brown eyes glued to it as per usual.

"Yes, sir?" She asked automatically, currently in the middle of completing the one hundredth level in 'Candy Crush' and only listening to her boss with only one ear.

"I am bored." The fox-haired man stated flatly, chin resting on the palm of his hand and looking more like a bored child in class than one of the most important people in the world. "The terrorists are having a timely vacation, Sherlock is doing the impossible and actually behaving himself, and my fellow politicians are _not_ acting like complete children for once in their collective carriers, leaving me with nothing to do." Anthea had the decency to look up from her phone, giving him her full attention. "All those factors have made me decide that, since the risk of me getting kidnapped and drowned in alcohol in order to loosen my tongue regarding government secrets is relatively high, the best way to pass the time _productively_ will be to gain vast immunity to liquor, in order to get rid of the unfair advantage said kidnapers would otherwise have over me."

Once the speech was finished, Anthea was staring at her, nearly always, ingenious and composed boss with her eyes wide as plates and mouth open agape.

She must be hearing things, surely.

Mycroft 'Iceman' Holmes _didn't_ just ask her, albeit in a very Mycroftian-like manner, to provide him with the means to get himself drunk senseless to evade boredom.

There is no _way_ that just happened.

She must have fallen asleep in her office again…yes, that's it. This is all just a stupid dream she's having, now all she has to do is close her eyes and when she opens them again everything will be back to nor-

"Don't just stand there, Anthea!" Mycroft's irritated voice, along with an agitated band on the desk, pulled the poor assistant out of thought. "There is a case of Russian originated vodka laying in the basement on the second shelf, which demands to be consumed _today,_ if you please."

What the poor PA said next barely made its way thought her shocked throat.

"V-Vodka, sir?" She squeaked, surprised by his choice. As long as she knows him, which is all his carrier, he has _never_ willingly touched the soviet drink unless on a delegation to Moscow, as he usually just drinks scotch or wine.

"Unfortunately." He snorts. "A bet has been made between me and Vladimir on our latest meeting. If the vodka he sent me rises to my expectation, I will not intervene in any of his schemes regarding the possession of a certain piece of land. However if it doesn't, I have the right to ask for the possession of a certain flying object he's been keeping hidden from the public eye." Mycroft then sighted. "I suppose now would be as good a time as any to find out who won this gamble."

Anthea has nothing to say, her mind baffled at the fact that he sounds completely _serious_ about all this.

Was she warped into an alternative universe while asleep?

Was this an elaborate test set by her employer…

Or is he _really_ just _bored_.

" _Anthea_." He growls lowly, eyes flashing dangerously. "Today is a _very_ bad day to test my patience. My mind is in absolute _chaos_ and if I _don't_ occupy it or dull it with the sweet powers of alcohol, I fear for my overall sanity." His voice was full of dreadful foreboding as his eyes narrowed. "So _please_ , be a good little PA and BRING ME THE VODKA ALREADY!"

Anthea didn't have to be told twice.

She went.

She came back with the liquor.

He drank…

And drank, and drank, and drank…

Until there was nothing left to drink.

That's about the time Anthea decided to place the nation on high alert and call for Doctor Watson.

Because a man as deadly and knowledgeable in the secrets of both his own nation and those around it, as Mycroft Holmes _without_ the restrains of rational thought…

Is far more dangerous than a nuke.


	2. Chapter 2

"World's Greatest Threat"

Chapter 1

"How to take care of a drunk embodiment of the British Government 101, Lesson 1: Do NOT let him/her watch the news under ANY circumstances! Doing so might have an irreversible effect on how you perceive the world you live in."

Part 1

* * *

Sherlock was just about to start concerting on his violin again, when he noticed his older brother's car appear in sight.

Heaving a dramatic sigh the detective flopped down on his favorite armchair, mentally preparing himself for the awful event that is Mycroft paying a home visit to either A) ask him to do a job he'll refuse anyway or B) just be annoying.

Knowing how much his elder sibling despises the instrument he now caresses in his hands, the curly haired detective began plunking away the most annoying tunes he could conjure up.

Perhaps, if he's lucky, this visit will be abruptly cut short before it has the chance to truly begin.

He heard the doorbell ring and John rushing over to open it, followed by a few seconds of dialogue far too hushed for the lazy detective to hear, between the blogger and Mycroft's amputated right hand that somehow grew into a human (at least that's Sherlock's theory. How else would Anthea stand his constant company?), before the door was once again shut closed.

"Easy, easy now…" A John's voice reached the detective's ears from the stairway. "No need to rush things, take as long as you need."

It sounded as if he was half-leading, half-dragging someone up the stairs.

"I'm fine, doctor *hic* Watson." Another voice answered one usually so controlled and even, which was now slurred and broken up by drunken hiccups. "The world's just spinning *hic* a wee bit *hic* too fast for me."

"Just keep your eyes on the stairs, Mycroft." Sherlock spat out the tea he tried to drink. "Would hate to end up picking you up from the floor, if you fall."

Once he recovered the ability to breathe properly, the world's only Consulting Detective bolted from his room. He reached the bottom of the stairway just in time to see that John managed to drag the British Government to the main room, and dump him in front of the telly.

"There." The poor doctor wheezed out as he patted the intoxicated Holmes on the shoulder, and turned the TV on. "Now, you just sit tight, while I go talk to that impossible brat-of-a-brother of yours."

Before leaving Mycroft to his own devices, John selected the news channel, in hopes that seeing something familiar might distract the elder Holmes long enough for him and Sherlock to devise some sort of plan on how to deal with this mess.

Not waiting for a reply from the fox-haired man, the former soldier walked out of the room only to run into a rather shocked looking Sherlock.

"What's going on?" The curly haired man asked, probably too afraid to find out the answer himself, as he watched his older brother marvel at the moving shapes in the television like a toddler.

"Long story short, your _smarter_ brother got himself utterly drunk." John deadpanned.

"How?"

"Presumably by drinking a lot of beverage. What kind of question _is_ that, Sherlock?!"

"Mycroft doesn't _get_ drunk." The detective insisted, eyes watching the older man like a hawk.

"Really?" John raised an eyebrow before looking back at the man sitting on the armchair behind him. "Because he looks pretty wasted to me."

"He never did before, not even when playing ambassador in Russia." Sherlock explained, sharp eyes narrowing and hands curling into fists. "He _knows_ his limits, and makes sure he stops before reaching them."

"So what are you saying?" The blogger asked, tilting his head. "That he'd have to be _forced_ for this to happen?"

"I see no other explanation." Sherlock replied, already halfway up the stairs to grab his coat. Determined to find the felon who dared to force his brother into such an embarrassing state of mind.

"Well, I hate to burst your bubble Sherlock, but that's not what happened." John yelled after him.

"Wait… what?" The detective's curly head poked out of his room, a look of utter confusion and shock plastered on his face.

"You heard me. Apparently your dear older brother did this to himself, willingly and willfully." The doctor said, crossing hands on his chest. "He even made Anthea get the alcohol. Something about a bet with the leader of Russia."

Sherlock blinked, then blinked again.

"But… why would he do that?" He asked, clearly perplexed. "Mudding the mind like that is unlike him."

John chuckled.

"Seems that you two have more in common than either of us thought." He laughed full force when Sherlock's disbelieving snort reached his ears. "As, according to Anthea, he did it because he was… bored."

"…" The detective looked as if his brain just froze. "He did it because he was… bored?" He repeated brainlessly.

"Yup."

"The man that basically runs an entire country and is part of MI6 and CSI, _and_ my older brother… had _time_ to be _bored_?"

"Well…" John was enjoying this a lot more than he should. "This _was_ a pretty slow week up to this point with us having no cases, therefore no murderers to chase around London. And I'm pretty sure the news were lacking in terms of catastrophes and political scandals for some time now so… I can see why someone like Mycroft could feel bored."

Sherlock still looked perplexed.

Apparently he had a hard time accepting all this.

"But why couldn't he simply-"

Whatever Sherlock was about to say, was drowned out by the television suddenly getting much louder.

" _The British Government decided to heed the call of its people and pull our beautiful country out of the European Union_." The typical blonde announcer said.

"H-Hey! Don't ya drag mah *hic* name down with those idiots! *hic* Ah wasn't even *hic* in the country when they *hic* decided that! *hic* I was *hic* in North Korea!" The Crime-fighting Duo heard Mycroft retort angrily.

" _Though seemingly a good idea at first, some people are already questioning the logistics of this rather drastic move_."

"*hic* 'bout time ya *hic* _nincompoops_! *hic* Ya should've *hic* listened to meh when *hic* ya had the chance! *hic*"

" _Whenever the Prime Minister chooses to go crawling back to the organization, or not, one thing is sure: The British Government has one hell of a mess to clean up._ "

"Nope! *hic* I ain't gonna *hic* do _squat_! *hic* They're on *hic* their own until they *hic* learn their lesson! *hic* They may plead *hic* and they may beg but *hic* I will be _unyielding_! *hic* Not even the Queen *hic* will faze me!"

In the other room Sherlock was still rebooting his system, while John regretted ever buying a working television.

* * *

JA107: Oh trust me, Johnny *grins*. That...is just a taste.


End file.
